Far Away from Here
by BehrBeMine
Summary: Life goes on. Even without Alex.


Title: Far Away from Here  
Author: BehrBeMine  
Feedback: You know, I'm really not sure about this one. It was a real struggle to get it finished and when I finally did, it didn't even come close to resembling what it was supposed to be in my head. Any input would be SO appreciated. behrbemine@hotmail.com  
Summary: Life goes on. Even without Alex.  
Rating: PG  
Pairing: None. Friendship fic – Liz, Maria, and Alex  
Improv: #13 - - common, velvet, peppermint, sharp  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Don't sue, I'll cry. ;p  
Spoiler: 'Cry Your Name'  
Distribution: Roswell Improv, Fanfiction.net, Rambling Muse. To archive anywhere else, just ask.  
Thanks: Hugs and kisses to Aurora, my wonderful better half of the brain, for the mixed tape that served as the inspiration for me to finally get this fiction finished. You rock all, hun.  
Dedication: For my own personal Alex, with extra hugs for the days that are bad.  
  
  
"Dear God, make me a bird so I can fly far. Far, far away from here." -- Forrest Gump  
  
- - -  
  
Alex is gone, his body still; his remains buried beneath the ground. He lies alone in death, mourned deeply, but it isn't enough. A life lost from a secret shared; a young boy taken from those who would love him, much too soon – before his life ever truly came to be.  
  
The silent cry of two small girls to God goes unheard and unanswered: bring him back to me. They stand together, covered in black dresses to match the clouds in their minds. Hands that shake reach for one another to entertwine in an attempt at reassurance that remains lost because it's not there to give.  
  
Alex is gone. Suddenly all seems smaller, darker, lonelier, as two lives without a best friend begin.  
  
- - -  
  
(Liz)  
  
Delicate white rose petals fall from my fingers to the ground, covering the grass of his grave like slow-falling snowflakes. Releasing them one-by-one from shaky hands, I watch as they flutter to the ground to settle on top of death. On top of Alex's grave.  
  
Sharp intakes of breath are all that I have to help calm myself down. I keep reminding myself to breathe slow, breathe deep, and let the panic melt away. His name stares back at me from the too-common ground-level headstone, bearing the date of his death as a reminder of my nightmare come true.  
  
The summer afternoon wind picks up to suddenly dance through my hair, spreading wisps past my lips and my eyes. I see the white petals scatter away, and I think to myself that they resemble the memories swirling in my head. For a moment, I wonder if the memories are as fleeting as the petals that have all but disappeared, carried away so easily by nature's careless hands. And I hope not.  
  
I hope my memories remain mine, to have and to savor as all that I have left of him. I hope I keep them forever, locked up in the seventeen year-old compartment of my heart. Trapped amid happier times, like the prom and like Isabel's birthday party. I can't feel quite empty when I still hold a piece of Alex inside of me. I need only close my eyes to see his face, and if I shut out the world, I can hear the sound of his voice, humming along as his band plays to a noisy crowd.  
  
My fingers thread through the air, wanting to grasp his hand one last time. But my skin feels nothing but warmth as the slight wind dies down. Sunlight closes in around me and I find myself wishing to be in the shadows – closer to the darkness that ensnares him now and always.  
  
The cemetery is calming to my frazzled nerves, soothing my heartbeat to a rhythmic beating, slowing it as if taking me into the death that surrounds me. My journal is usually where I record thoughts such as these, but there are some thoughts that are too personal to be written down, even if they'll never be read by anyone but myself. And I don't think these are the types of things I'm going to want to ever read, because if I did then I would be brought back to the mindset that I'm stuck in right now, and it's not a place that I ever want to have to be again... So I won't write any of this down.  
  
If I was a painter, or if I was a writer, then I'd see more than the calming effect that this daylight setting has on me. Maybe I'd find a way to tie the colors of the golden light around me and the spring green of the rose stem in my hand into some sort of visual representation of what this moment means to me. Maybe I would give each surrounding color a certain feeling or emotion that I'm experiencing, and dissect it in detail so that the reader would know of the hell that exists inside of me.  
  
But I'm not a painter, and I'm not a writer. I'm not an artist of any kind. In my world, things have a reason for being what they are; a set of rules defines why things happen and when they will stop being what they are. Science defines these things for me. Being able to look at something like sunlight, and knowing that it exists for a reason, a real reason that can be explained in terms that I can understand and know to always be true, is a comforting thing. When things in life can be explained – by either me or someone else, then I can accept them, as I am a scientist by nature.  
  
Looking at this from a scientific point-of-view, I realize that it is not, in fact, the setting itself which is calming me. The image is something familiar and something beautiful, and I can appreciate it, and so it helps to calm my nerves. But it is not what has calmed me. I have calmed myself. I have an ability to rationalize things and to put them in perspective, and by doing that now, I've managed to simmer the war that's going on inside my head for the time being. Managed to stall it until tomorrow.  
  
There are words engraved on the stone slab before me, words that I have memorized. I've stared at them for so long that I could turn away and draw the very letters in a precise manner that, when placed over the grave marker, would match exactly. Letters all of the same shape and size, stemming from the sterile monotony of a computer. My eyes fall on the name the most, because it's the only thing that has significance to me. At least until I can get this mystery solved, and therefore lay my friendship with my best friend to rest. So his name sticks out prominently, boring into my mind as if ordering me to find out the truth. The truth I will find, Alex.  
  
I wish I could say that I've never let him down before. It might give me some confidence that I won't this time. But I've let Alex down before. Alex, my friend – my best friend, a third of my being. I lied to him not long over year ago, not by choice, but because I had to. But if I had known what was to come in his future, I don't think I would have placed our friendship that became fragile in such jeopardy for such a long time.  
  
It's really hard for me to look back on what he said, innocently, of course, one day at the end of school. I caught up with him as he was unlocking his bike. I knew the combination on his padlock, 8-8-22, and I watched his fingers without realizing it as they guided the padlock to the proper coordinates before snapping the lock open. And then he met my eyes as I tried to plead that he not tell anyone anything about Max in as subtle a way as I could. He sounded so angry as he said, "You wanna know what? A couple weeks ago, if someone were to ask me who I would trust with my life other than my parents, I would have said you without skipping a beat. And now... now I feel like I don't even know who you are."  
  
Who he would trust his life with... I hate it that life's given those words a chance to ring true. Alex's life is gone, and because he was loyal to me our whole friendship through, I can stay loyal to him, and swear to find out the truth of his death. Whether or not that will make a difference, whether it will let his body rest in peace, I'll never know for sure. But this is something that I have to do, for Alex, my best friend, because until I know all there is to know about his death, *I* can't rest in peace.  
  
If Max wants to believe that Alex was the kind of person that would kill himself, I guess there's not much I can do to sway his judgement. But he didn't know Alex the way I did.  
  
Max didn't see how hard it was for Alex to contain the excitement in his voice while Isabel was begging him to spend some time with her the other day. Max didn't see the way that Alex's eyes lit up when I pointed out that now he had Isabel chasing after him. He was realizing the way that it would be from now on – from that day after; you don't get excited about the future when you're not planning to have one.  
  
Max hardly noticed Alex until he became involved with me and Maria two years ago, and only then because Alex was so constantly around us. But Alex has been my friend, has been Maria's friend, for much longer than that. What is it that he always confirmed? Since the fifth grade.  
  
Max wasn't there for birthday parties, for PG-13 movies, for everything that I can still look back on with a smile. Like the day my dad relented and finally said Maria and I could work as waitresses in the family restaurant. It was the day after my fourteenth birthday, and Alex wasn't quite as excited as I was.  
  
"Look at that, there are antennae sticking out of your head," he said sarcastically as he flicked them from his place at the front counter. "What am I supposed to do all day this summer while the two of you are wiping down tables and dropping plates?"  
  
"Here's an idea," Maria piped in with forced enthusiasm. "Why don't YOU go get a job, too? Or no, wait – Liz, he could be a busboy!" And then she erupted in laughter when she saw the look on Alex's face.  
  
That was nothing compared to the last day of ninth grade. I was late walking out of the school, and Maria and Alex were waiting for me, their faces impatient.  
  
"Where were you? We're going to be late for work!" Maria shot.  
  
I forced down those giggles that are stereotypical for girls my age, unable to keep my mind off the feel of Kyle Valenti's lips on mine, or the look on his face when he asked me to meet him at the pool next week. "I was just... Well, Kyle wanted me to meet him in the janitor's closet..."  
  
Alex shot me an exasperated look. "The janitor's closet?! Whoa, whoa, how is it that I haven't heard a thing about this until now?"  
  
"Alex, he just like asked me last period..."  
  
"Do you know what freshmen DO in the janitor's closet, Liz?" When my grin gave me away, Alex put a hand to his forehead. "Oh geeze, you two are growing up without me, this is too much for one year. So now, now Liz is off kissing sports jocks? Since when do you know how to kiss?" I glanced at Maria and laughed, enjoying how freaked out Alex was getting. "He's going to break your heart, Liz, and then you're going to swear off all men, and where will that leave me?"  
  
"Oh, she won't swear off you, Alex, you're not a REAL man yet," Maria offered as consolation.  
  
"Oh, thanks, thank you very much," muttered Alex in a dejected sort of way. I laughed with abandon and threw my arms around his waist.  
  
I guess now that I look back, that was the beginning of the last summer of childhood for us. Knowing the secret of aliens sort of pulled us into the ever-important and complicated life of adulthood. Talking about kissing while strolling away from the school yard is a lot different than running as fast as you can from the FBI.  
  
Two best friends are better than one – three was never a crowd for us; it was how we liked it. Maria, Alex, and me. Always. I worry that he felt alienated at times in the past few years, because I think in a way, Maria and I grew closer together while Alex and I, and Alex and Maria, grew further apart. It wasn't intentional, of course, but as you grow older you identify more with those that are going through the same things you are...  
  
One rainy day during sophomore year, the three of us sat at The Crashdown, sulking at a booth in the empty restaurant. I folded my hands together and set them down on the table, plopping my chin on top. Maria's mouth had been moving nonstop for a good twenty minutes straight, and yet she hardly seemed to have to stop and catch her breath. Her lecture was a familiar one, being that it concerned Michael and Max.  
  
She paused in her "if-only-I-just-hated-Michael-it-would-be-so-much-easier" ramble long enough to sigh and fix her eyes on me. "Liz, boys are like dogs. You have to train them, and yank hard on the leash when they misbehave." I think I must have given her some type of humorous look, because she turned her attention to Alex. "No offense, bud, you know I love you to death, but all guys are the same."  
  
"I can't compare Max to a dog!" I shot out, my voice laced with a thousand giggles. "Or Alex," I added, giving him an apologetic smile.  
  
Maria rolled her eyes. "You poor, forgiving girl. How did you ever stay that way around me? What I say is true, just ask my mom. It's like her favorite sentence. Men. Are. Dogs. Alex, bark."  
  
As I looked at Alex's face, I laughed harder than I've laughed since.  
  
It's funny the things you remember about someone. Those little moments that your mind chooses to single out and associate with that face you're missing so badly aren't always ones you thought you'd remember. Memories can be terrible, as the memories of Alex are for me. There's something untouchable about a friendship that has roots in childhood, and the love that you have for a friend that genuine goes deeper than the very bottoms of the earth, down to the very core of your soul.  
  
The most painful part of what I just said is that it's not an exaggeration.  
  
Sometimes we begin to take things for granted, even people; those closest to us give comfort so often that its significance fades with time. I don't want to take Maria for granted anymore, the only one I have left, and I hope to God that I never took Alex for granted. For the first time in a long stretch of minutes, I tear my eyes away from the words surrounding his name, embedded in the cold rock of the stone that marks his grave. And I turn to Maria.  
  
My tears are gone, leaving dried streaks along my face, and she looks the same. It's a few days after Alex's funeral, and suddenly I find myself wondering how I survived this far. If it wasn't for Maria, I wouldn't have. How odd to say her name alone. Just Maria; no Alex to follow.  
  
The very fiber of my being isn't fully woven any longer, because he was a part of it. Without him near to add his strength to my weakness, I feel empty, incomplete; alone. And so I mean it quite literally when I say that a part of me has died.  
  
A part of me was laid to rest along with his cold, dead body, and it's buried along with him beneath my feet. I'm not the same person I was days ago, but with Maria to keep me going, I will find the missing pieces to put myself together again, in time.  
  
For now we're still empty, two girls standing in a silent graveyard, the sun shining behind our backs. The pain is draining the life out of us both, I can see it. A third of who we've always been has been ripped away, and the gaping hole will be hard to hide. But she's all I have now, Maria, my best friend since kindergarden, and the only thing here that keeps me breathing. We'll stand here for longer, perhaps until the sun leaves the sky, and the darkness, like death, will come to surround us; then we'll leave. Having said goodbye to Alex.  
  
We owe it to Alex to find out the truth, and we will, together. Along the way, we'll take deep breaths and survive... just survive.  
  
- - -  
  
(Maria)  
  
I don't like the outdoors in the summer. Chilling in the shade by a swimming pool is one thing; standing out in the baking sun quite another. Normally I would hate today's scenario because the sun is beating down on my back, its constant heat falling upon me relentlessly. But today I don't feel anything but the cold that emanates from the core of my heart.  
  
I want to be strong, like Liz, and be able to look at the letters on Alex's grave marker. I want to be able to stare them down and realize they mean nothing, and shouldn't intimidate me so. But I can't. My tears would fall harder if I had to see his name, had to see his birthday that we won't celebrate anymore. The sobs would start again if I had to see the day he died and swallow it into the past.  
  
I'm not ready to put it away yet, to put Alex behind me. I can't; I won't.  
  
I choose to look at my shoes to keep my eyes from wandering to places they don't want to be. Dress shoes, the kind that hurt your feet after a few hours. The kind that you hate as a kid and refuse to wear, forcing your mother to chase you around the house, promising cookies later and then resorting to threats of no dinner and longer naps. The kind that push in your toes and never feel like they fit; the kind that hurt.  
  
It's okay for them to hurt me today. I wouldn't comprehend another feeling, anyway.  
  
I haven't been able to at all, not since the moment we learned he had died. I can't remember the first minutes, but Liz told me I yelled "No!" As if denying it out loud, wishing it undone, would take it all away. Maybe it's best that I can't recall those first few moments. It's enough to deal with knowing all that came afterward.  
  
After Max tried to heal Alex and couldn't, I found myself in a state of utter shock. I felt like I couldn't breathe. I needed to get away, to be anywhere but in this reality that I couldn't handle. Michael followed me away from our group of mourning friends without saying a thing. He was silent the whole way to my house.  
  
Standing on the front porch of my home, I let Michael knock on the door as if I hadn't lived there all my life. My mother answered, a mug of warm tea in her hands that smelled faintly of peppermint. She greeted Michael and I with a strange sort of smile that slowly faded as she got a look at my face.  
  
"What's wrong?" she asked, panic just below the surface.  
  
I couldn't answer, couldn't even remember how to speak. Michael spoke for me. "Alex is..." His voice sounded so young, its cocky quality replaced with something fragile, something breaking. "He died."  
  
My mother cried out and rushed to place a hand over her mouth, the mug shaking as her other hand lost its strength. She tried desperately to meet my eyes, but I refused, choosing instead to stare at the cement beneath my feet. Michael ran a gentle hand along my lower back, attempting to soothe me with his touch like velvet. But it hurt to have him touch me. I didn't want to be able to feel it.  
  
"Stop," I whispered in a voice barely audible.  
  
His hand froze, and then moved away. I pretended not to consider his feelings or his confusion.  
  
"Alex is..." began my mother, still attempting to comprehend, "Alex... he's dead..." Her voice lost its mother-like calm, spiraling down into hurried breathing to mask her cries. She dropped the mug, not even wincing, as I did, when it smashed to the ground. She pulled me into her arms, her voice hysterical. "Your little friend Alex, he's dead, he's gone. Your friend Alex, oh God, Maria..."  
  
There's some sort of connection between mothers and daughters, even those that aren't so close, or have grown apart. I wanted to tell my mother not to have to feel my pain, wanted to be able to keep her from experiencing this disbelief that I myself couldn't bear. I wanted to soothe her as she was trying to soothe me, but I didn't say a thing because I couldn't bring myself to care.  
  
All I could do was picture the mug smashing again and again to the ground, separating into pieces like those clawing at my heart, shredding it into nothing. Glass shattering, water splashing, the sudden sound hitting me, shocking my senses just as Alex's death had done. Twice in one night; I couldn't handle it.  
  
(Smash, boom, splash; Alex is dead. Smash.)  
  
I ripped myself out of my mother's arms, holding myself steady as I almost fell back into Michael. My coordination seemed to leave my body as I stumbled inside the house, managing to push past my mother who tried to pull me into another hug. The sight of her outstretched arms made me feel claustrophobic, the pleading look in her eyes reminding me of the panic in mine.  
  
I stumbled into the wall, forcing my legs to go on, to take me away from my mother and Michael who cared so much, but who weren't helping at all. I reached the bathroom at the end of the hall and as I leaned into the doorway, the room started to spin. The green color of the bathtub tiles mixed with the pearly white of the sink, swarming into a mass of light green that spun at a speed too fast for my senses to keep up with.  
  
I fell to the floor, my limbs screaming out in protest as I lay in a heap. I didn't want to move, but I was forced to by my stomach as an overwhelming wave of nausea took over me and I hurried to the toilet. My stomach lurched as I heaved up the day, from breakfast 'till dinner that didn't include Alex. Again and again I gagged, letting go of everything inside of me, spilling myself out and watching it form a single mass of substance. Outside of me.  
  
When I was finished, I cried. Sobs tore at my empty stomach, sending more pain through my bloodstream to torture me. Tears dropped from my eyes to pool on the floor and the bathroom rug, wetting everything beneath me like rain. I cried out and screamed, over and over again, wanting to disappear until this was over, not caring if I could come back. I couldn't think of anything but Alex and the way he looked fragile when he was worried. I cried for him, for every time he was plagued by those worries, for all the times I took away his smile. I cried for every mean or sarcastic thing I'd ever said, taking it back without words as I pounded my fist into the floor. And then I screamed some more, out of pain that shot through me in a rapid way, recycling itself and coming back in harsh waves.  
  
I voiced my anguish until I couldn't any longer, collapsing completely in exhaustion, tucking myself up until a ball. The coolness of the floor tile made me shiver, the trembles attacking me in my weakest state, adding salt to the wounds created in my terror.  
  
I sniffled and coughed, then fell silent. I heard the murmur of soft voices beyond the bathroom and knew that my mother and Michael were talking. I felt I should hate them for being strong enough to communicate when Alex was dead. Alex, my best friend. My lost friend.  
  
Long minutes passed that felt like hours as I laid on the cold floor, shivering and miserable. The bathroom smelled of my vomit, and as I waited for my gag reflex to fire up again, I heard footsteps. Heavy steps on the wood floor of the hallway, echoing like gunshots, making my head buzz with an intense ache. Footsteps coming closer.  
  
I didn't have the energy to roll over and see who stopped in the bathroom doorway to look in on me. I saw the shadow of a tall figure on the wall, the glaring light around it pouring into the darkness of the bathroom from the hallway. I wanted to ask who was there but I couldn't bring myself to. I sat up in silence, wincing from the pain that existed all over me. My movements were so slow and sluggish. I couldn't help it.  
  
I was preparing myself for the complicated movement of turning around to see who was there when the shadow on the wall grew closer. Suddenly I was seized up by strong arms and pulled into a solid chest. My lower arms rested on larger ones, tanner ones, and as I looked down, I relaxed, willing myself to become comfortable in the caring embrace that was holding me up. Michael.  
  
He leaned his head into the back of my neck, and I could feel that his strength was a lie. He was crumbling, just as I was. His breathing was at an unnatural rate as he fought back whatever was coming, refusing to let it surface. Maybe because I was there; maybe because he felt he had to.  
  
My legs shook, their strength drained once more. And though I fought to stand, they buckled beneath me and I fell, taking Michael with me to the ground. Our two bodies slammed into the floor, bringing more pain to make my tears start again.  
  
As Michael heard me break down, something happened. He broke down, too. Quiet sobs reached my ears, muffled by the fact that he gave the back of my neck a frantic kiss. I cried out in agony, again voicing the hurt that couldn't be fed and wouldn't dry up. I added my cries to his, more tears falling to the damp ground as Michael's splashed onto my skin. I felt their warmth and wanted to die because Alex would never feel warmth again.  
  
It was a chorus of pain we created as we slowly rocked back and forth. For the first time, I felt truly cold in his arms, his body heat doing nothing to block out the goosebumps that appeared on my skin.  
  
I let my exhaustion overtake me, pulling me down into the darkness of sleep. I lost myself in the calming rhythm of Michael rocking me gently in his arms. And I prayed that I would have dreams of Alex.  
  
I've made a promise to myself, to remember Alex every day of my life. At first, I kept wanting to forget him in order to shut out the pain of going on without him. I wanted to throw away the memories to keep them from slowly killing me inside. I still can't face up to his death, but I've come to better terms with his memory. He's not completely gone if I can keep him in my mind, keep him to myself in the way only a best friend can. He still exists, even if it's just a shadow of the boy that was lost.  
  
I cling to that shadow, holding it tight to my heart to keep myself from breaking down. Hysterical tears hover just below the surface, threatening to be exposed at every unsure moment. I force them down with a deep swallow, needing to pretend to be calm in order to convince myself I really can be. Letting go is something I did on the day of his death, and it's something I couldn't stop for so many of those long, long minutes. If I let myself go again, it's possible I won't ever stop.  
  
I see Alex in my mind, loving Isabel from afar, popping jokes that no one gets, being so delightfully friendly you can't help but love him. I see his face in the sun, shining and happy, glowing with that eternal love of life and all it brings forth. I see the nervous smile he cracks to shrug off embarassment and bad things that happen.  
  
I see him arguing with me about who won the crowd over the night of Liz's blind date. I see him insisting that not everyone's focusing on the lead singer. "Guitars are sexy," he would say. "Almost as sexy as the guys who play them. Ask anyone. The guitar players kick singers' asses in popularity."  
  
I see his face falling as I get an outside opinion, and I see his eyebrows furrow as he articulates an answer to get himself out of this the winner. "No, see, you knew he would pick you over me, that doesn't count. It's not fair to ask people you've gone out with who the better musician is."  
  
I see myself rolling my eyes to disguise how much I'm loving how adorably passionate he is about such little things. About everything.  
  
Liz leans her head on my shoulder, sighing in a sad way, and I echo the sorrowful sound as I'm pulled back from my memories, feeling another gust of wind brush into me and send my light jacket fluttering. Alex used to like the wind. Thought it was funny the first summer Liz and I started getting so aggravated when it messed up our hair.  
  
"If you ask me, your hair always looks the same anyway," he'd insist, earning an extra glare from me. The wind is messing up my hair now, but I guess it doesn't matter that I don't care, because Alex isn't here to see. He isn't here to know that he's the only important thing on my mind.  
  
Well, he and Liz.  
  
It hurts to lose a best friend. It tears out your heart and makes you feel like you're slowly bleeding to death on the inside. It makes you forget why you ever thought you were strong on your own, without that special someone to keep you standing, and keep you trying. It's so cliché, but I never stopped to realize how much Alex meant to me, how much he added to my life just by being there.  
  
You don't feel so balanced without a friend on either side of you as you throw your arms over their shoulders. With the absence of one, you're at a tilt, and you have to hold yourself up on one side. The strength is suddenly cut in half and it's hard to adjust after having that extra cushion for so long. It's hard to comprehend that the second shoulder won't be there to lean on anymore. Especially when you need it most.  
  
- - -  
  
Hands still shaking clasp and unclasp, pumping strength into one other with every gesture that goes hardly noticed.  
  
"I love you," Maria whispers.  
  
Liz nods her head, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I love you.  
  
"You're all I have left, you know? Of childhood, of the other part of me. We're not as strong with one of us missing."  
  
There is silence, and then: "Are we going to get through this?"  
  
A lone tear escapes, trailing down Liz's cheek to her trembling chin. Her voice echoes the shakiness that ensnares her. "We're going to try."  
  
It isn't everything. It's hardly anything at all. But for two girls who have lost a third of their world, it is enough. For now. Liz wraps her arms around her friend, hugging her tight with the little bit of strength she has in her. She looks beyond Maria's shoulder, to a stray white rose petal resting on the ground. Caught amid a few stems of grass, it remains in place despite the wind that blows at it continuously. It stands strong and still, a physical symbol of the road ahead. Alone, without the other petals to accompany it, and after being torn off its stemmed flower, it manages to keep from flying away.  
  
- -  
end 


End file.
